


A Song of Love and Death

by EmieB123



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/F, Game of Thrones AU, M/M, ratings and warning will change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:38:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmieB123/pseuds/EmieB123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Cosette is Queen of the North and if you think this is going to have a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I might steal characters out of the GoT universe because I'm lazy but I'll try not to
> 
> Italics still aren't working for me sorry
> 
> Ok so:  
> Cosette- Stark and Queen of the North  
> Eponine- Greyjoy  
> Enjolras- Martell/Sand Snake but was raised in Winterfell  
> Grantaire- Lannister bastard  
> Combeferre- Stark  
> Courfeyrac- Tully  
> Bahorel- Umber  
> Joly- a healer  
> Feuilly- Captain of Cosette's Queenguard  
> Bossuet- ???

Enjolras was woken by his squire shaking him awake. Why he even needed a squire was lost on him, but Cosette had insisted and Marius was a good lad, if a little empty-headed. And his hopeless crush on the Queen was an endless source of amusement.

“We’d better be under attack.” It wasn’t even light out yet and he’d been up half the night pouring over maps with Cosette and their lieutenants.

“No my lord, but the Queen has summoned you.” He paused, his face flushed with excitement. “They’ve captured the Lions Bastard.” 

***

When Enjolras finally made his way to the Queens chambers, he found everyone already gathered there. Cosette smiled at him when he entered and he took his customary spot standing behind her next to Feuilly, the captain of her Queensguard.

Standing before her in chains was the Lions Bastard. He was less impressive in person, covered and blood and dirt and smelling of sweat and shit. His light armor was dented and his cloak was torn so Enjolras could barely make out the golden lion on red. ‘Hear me roar.’ Enjolras smirked to himself. Roaring meant little in a cage.

The man lifted his head and looked at Enjolras for a long moment before smiling and bowing mockingly to Cosette. “Well, your grace, if someone would’ve informed me the very sun itself was among your ranks, I wouldn’t have put up as much of a fight.”

Enjolras stared at him; he could hear Courfeyrac snickering to the side; but Cosette just raised an elegant eyebrow. “From what my men told me, you barely resisted. In fact you went quite willingly.”

He grimaced. “A word of advice, lovely queen, never ride into battle drunk.”

Cosette laughed. “Sound advice. I trust you are sober now?”

He smiled coldly. “Yes, being captured by the very people you’re trying to kill will do that to you.” He shrugged, breaking eye contact “And my horse threw me, I think that helped significantly.”

He held up his chained hands “Now, can we have these shackles off, they’re quite irritating and entirely unnecessary seeing as I’m surrounded by your army.”

Cosette nodded, “Of course, Lord Lannister, you are our guest” and the shackles were removed. 

He rubbed the chaffed skin. “My lady you are wrong on three counts, I am your prisoner, not your guest- do not insult me by pretending what is not. And I am no Lannister and a poor excuse for a lord, if you must call me anything, I prefer my name.” He made a grand sweeping gesture and bowed his head “Grantaire Storm at your service. May I sit? I have the feeling we’re going to be here a while and I have been fighting a war.”

Cosette beckoned and a chair was brought out for him. Enjolras had to bite his tongue, he knew Cosette wouldn’t thank him for questioning her in front of her bannermen, but this man was the enemy, he should not be asking things of them and Cosette should most definitely not be granting them. He kept his silence surprisingly well as he bantered with the Queen and her lieutenants, only cutting in when he made a crude joke that had Bahorel guffawing loudly and Courfeyrac doubled over trying to contain his laughter. 

“Your grace-“

“Peace, Enjolras. It was a jest, no more.” She was smiling but he could hear the warning in her light tone.

“But-“

“Enjolras.” Her voice went cold. “Hold your tongue. I will speak to you later.”

Enjolras scowled and looked straight ahead, jaw working angrily. 

“Enjolras.” He started when the man said his name. “Now why is that familiar?” He mulled over it for a moment. “You’re that Dornish snake, aren’t you!”

Enjolras sighed heavily, but at least it wasn’t ‘the bastard’ or ‘the Vipers bastard’ this time. He was more than his birth, but nobody bothered to look past his skin or name. “I am not from Dorne, my father is, and I am not one if his _snakes _.”__

__“You’re pale for a Dornishman.” He cocked his head to the side, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I wonder . . . are Dornish men as feisty in bed as their women?”_ _

__The entire room froze, staring nervously between the two. Everyone knew about Enjolras’ _preferences _, but it was not a topic generally up for discussion. Mainly because if Enjolras overheard he’d glare daggers until whoever was talking shut up, or if they didn’t get the message, a quick punch or show of steel would do the trick.___ _

____Enjolras stalked out. Why Cosette was humoring this . . . this absolute _ass _was beyond him, but he wasn’t going to be a part of it. He could hear Combeferre follow him, watching him silently as he paced.___ _ _ _

______“I don’t understand why she’s doing this.” Enjolras ground out._ _ _ _ _ _

______“She has her reasons, you know that.” Always the voice of reason, the second oldest Stark. Combeferre had always been the one to calm him down whenever he went into a rage over a stray comment or remark on his birth or preference in partners._ _ _ _ _ _

______Enjolras sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know, I just-“_ _ _ _ _ _

______Combeferre laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Then swallow your pride and come back inside, you know Cosette will be angry if you don’t.”_ _ _ _ _ _

______Enjolras nodded. He stood by the door, barely inside. Cosette frowned at him, but at least he didn’t have to look at _his _infuriating face. Thankfully, Cosette kept it more serious after his outburst.___ _ _ _ _ _

________“Your father will-”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You think my father gives two shits about me?” Grantaire snorted. “He’d rather throw me in the Blackwater than give you anything.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“You’re his son.” Cosette said gently._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Not by choice. No, no, if he does anything it’ll be for family and duty and honor. Not for me.” He said bitterly, looking away. His voice softened “You might get gold to insure my safety, but don’t expect your sister back, Young Queen.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Enjolras stiffened; Nimue had gone to the capitol with her father almost a year before. Then the boy king had cut his head off and Nimue was the Lannister’s ‘honored guest’._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Cosette leaned forward, “You’ve seen my sister at court?”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The man nodded seriously. “A quiet thing. She isn’t happy, but she’s safe.” Sensing Cosette’s concern he added, this time more gently, “They won’t hurt her. She’s the key to the North when you and your brother fall.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Cosette’s gaze sharpened. “I can assure you we have no intention of falling.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________He smiled sadly. “That doesn’t mean you will not. The Reyne’s had every intention of continuing as a house and now their bodies are rotting in the ground.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“We are not Reyne’s.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“No,” He sighed “You’re Northmen. Much more stubborn.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I think we’re done here.” Cosette said coldly. “Courfeyrac will you escort our guest to his chambers. Feuilly go with him and arrange a guard.” Everyone started filing out; he could hear Courfeyrac striking up their friendly banter with their prisoner. Enjolras went to follow but Cosette called him back._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Once they were alone, with the exception of Combeferre of course, Enjolras dropped into a chair, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “I suppose I must apologize for my behavior earlier.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Cosette smiled at him sympathetically. “You know I value your advice but I cannot permit you to challenge me in front of a prisoner. Especially not a prisoner of that importance. He’s smart, if he senses any kind of split in the ranks, he will use it to his advantage. You can’t let your temper get the better of you.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I know- I just” He waved his hand vaguely._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“Are you eating?” Combeferre spoke up. He sighed when Enjolras shrugged. “Enjolras you can’t just not eat. Remember last time?” Enjolras looked away. “You fell off your horse and had to stay behind for almost a fortnight.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________“I remember” Enjolras snapped. That had possibly been the most frustrating seven days of his life, second only to that time a tunnel had collapsed in the catacombs under Winterfell and he’d been trapped with only Courfeyrac for company for two days. (Not that he minded the . . . enthusiastic Tully; he was actually quite likable, but only in small, controlled doses and definitely not in a small chamber with no way to escape his absolutely horrid jokes.)_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Stuck in a tent, knowing the army was marching without him and unable to do _anything _had been absolute torture. He’d been more careful from then on, always eating at least a bite of dinner before catching up on whatever sleep he could in the few hours he wasn’t planning or marching. Lately it had begun to slip his mind, the raids had been growing more frequent, one almost every night. He just didn’t have the _time _._____ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Enjolras.” Cosette said gently, “Don’t make me talk to Marius about it.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Enjolras snorted. “Please. If you so much as look at him his head will explode.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Cosette smiled. “Then he’ll be more than happy to do anything I ask.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“He’s also told me you aren’t sleeping.” Combeferre walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “If you need milk of the poppy, I’m sure Joly wouldn’t mind parting with some.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Enjolras groaned. “I don’t need you to mother me.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Well obviously someone has to.” Combeferre laughed. “Come on, off to bed.”_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“I’m not a child.” Enjolras protested, but obediently trailed after him._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________“Well then stop acting like one.” Combeferre pushed him out, rolling his eyes in Cosette’s direction._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She smiled and yawned. It was almost like they were children back at Winterfell. Combeferre had always been the one to keep Cosette and Enjolras in line. Well, he tried. Cosette would lead them into trouble, Enjolras would make it worse and Combeferre would try and get them out with moderate success._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Back then it didn’t matter that Enjolras wasn’t a Stark, or Cosette was heir to Winterfell despite being a girl, or that Enjolras barely looked at girls while Cosette looked far too much and nobody cared if they all shared a bed when the nights grew cold. Now their days were spent squinting at maps and arguing over whether to attack now or wait until morning or sitting in a saddle until their asses were numb._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________She’d give anything to go back to those days when they could simply be and not worry about politics or war. When the worst of their troubles was how they were going to explain how Enjolras got stuck on the roof of the Maester’s tower or why Cosette had a black eye._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________But in a matter of months they had lost her father and sister and lover and now she was a Queen and men were kneeling when she walked into a room. Men were riding into battle and killing for her, _dying _for her and she still felt like the child who’d sit in her father’s lap and listen to stories of wolves and krakens and dragons. All the stories and monsters, and yet it was the lion that tore him apart.___ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The amount of time I've spent on the ASoIaF wiki because of this dumb thing is ridiculous

Grantaire stood, surveying his quarters. It was furnished sparsely but comfortably with a bed and desk and a chair by the fire. Pretty damn decent for a prisoner of war. Smelled a bit, but he was pretty sure that was just the natural stench of the swamp. 

Moat Cailin, stronghold of the north! He snorted. A pitiful ruin half sunk into the swamp, but for some reason they needed to take this shithole to get through the neck alive. 

He pulled off his boots and threw them in the direction of the fire. Gods, he hated the swamp. It was always wet and cold and the bugs were an absolute menace. And the Northmen were far more familiar with fighting with the bog weighing them down, so battles were long and they lost more often than not but they had enough men so it hardly made a dent in their numbers.

He stripped off his armour and sat heavily in the chair, stretching out his feet to the fire. He sighed at the rush of warmth. How the Northerners stood this cold he’d never understand. 

Their Queen was a piece of work though. The stories didn’t do her justice, didn’t capture her beauty, her poise, the barely contained wildness he could see lurking under her shell of elegance. He grinned, she must be an absolute terror in battle. He pitied the man to marry her. 

He’d heard rumors she was promised to the Tully. That would be a sight to see. Lord Tully had officially taken no side in the conflict, so it had been a surprise to see his son with the Young Wolf. Courfeyrac, his name was. Grantaire liked him, he was funny and always seemed to be smiling at something. Also a hopeless flirt from the way he winked at the serving girls as they passed. 

He turned his thoughts to that Martell boy. Enjolras, he corrected himself. Now there was a true work of art to rival the murals in the Sept of Baelor, with long hair that must shine in the sun and tanned skin that stood out against the pale of the North. 

He wondered what that skin would look like pressed against his own, what that golden hair would feel like tangled in his fingers. Shit, now he was getting hard. Hard for one of his captors. Oh, the songs the bards would sing of his plight. He could hear it now, ‘The Drunk who fell for the Sun’ they’d call it. Nah, that was shit, but it was a work in progress.

He palmed the bulge in his pants and briefly considered moving to the bed before dismissing it. The fire was too warm and the chair was rather comfy. 

He was pulled out of his daydreams by a brisk knock on the heavy wooden door. He cursed, jumping up and wondering how the hell he was going to get rid of the frankly embarrassing situation in his pants.

It was actually pretty easy, disappearing within minutes of thinking of battle, his father, his mother wasting away in her bed. 

He opened the door to a nervous looking man. He could see the guards behind him. 

“Hello, I’m Joly. The queen sent me. I’m a healer, so if you have any injuries . . .”

“Just a couple scrapes and bruises.” Grantaire smiled politely, starting to close the door.

“Oh, well I’ll just check those out, make sure they’re not infected.” Joly pushed past him. 

“That’s really not necessary.” Grantaire tried to protest, but Joly was already feeling around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“Feeling for swelling.” Joly didn’t pause in his examination.

“And why would my neck be swollen?” Grantaire could feel his lips quirking up in a smile at the peculiar little man.

“I lived and studied across the sea for a time.” He finally looked up, smiling in a breezy manner. “The wise men there found that if there’s swelling in certain areas of the neck it could indicate illness or infection elsewhere.”

Grantaire laughed. “That sounds more like an old womens tale than that of a wise man.”

Joly scowled and hit the back of his head. “That trick has saved more lives than war ever has.” He chided. 

“If you say so.” Grantaire rubbed his head. “Now that you’re done exploring my neck, are we done here?”

“Nope. Take off your shirt.” Joly said unsympathetically.

“Ah, you’re one of those lovers.” Grantaire teased, obediently pulling off the offending shirt as Joly laughed merrily. “Always giving orders.”

“Behave and I’ll soon be out of your hair.” 

Grantaire sighed and sat on the edge of the bed while Joly looked him over. “See, I’m fine.”

“Just let me clean this one scrape, it doesn’t look good.” Joly frowned behind him.

“Tis but a flesh wound. As long as my mind remains intact my body may rot as it sees fit. A body can be torn and ripped but as long as the mind goes on there is hope.” 

Joly looked at him sadly. “But minds can be corrupted and rot like flesh. And there is nothing we can do to save it. We can burn or cut away corrupted tissue but the mind is an enigma.” He looked down sheepishly, fiddling with his hands. “So we save what we can and hope the mind will heal itself in time.”

“I have yet to find one that has.” Grantaire mused, “I have seen people hope and pray and sacrifice to their gods, but to no avail. I never understood why they did that. If the gods were going to heal them, why break them in the first place.”

“Perhaps they can’t.” Joly said, “Perhaps they are just as lost as us when it comes to matters of the head.”

Grantaire scoffed. “Then why call them gods? If they cannot heal what are they good for? The gods are stories used to frighten children and simpletons into submission, not the all divine beings the priests speak of.”

Joly looked at him in confusion, “Do you not believe in any gods?”

“I take care not to believe in anything.” Grantaire said with a wistful smile. “With belief comes hope, and losing that hope can make a cynic of even the most pious men.” He noticed Joly’s frown and decided to change the subject “Now as much fun as discussing theology with you is, I think you were about to save my life with your magical healing arts.” Grantaire smiled fondly as Joly jumped and ran to say something to one of the guards outside.

It was hard not to like the eccentric healer. It was hard to dislike any of them, he was quickly learning. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew growing too attached to any of them would only lead to heartache, but he pushed it aside for now. It’d been too long since he’s had any fun and these Northmen were cheerier than the bloody Southron lot he’d been stuck with.

“Calling for your instruments of pain and torture?” Grantaire tried to lean back before wincing. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea, he’d had wounds grow infected before. It wasn’t fun, to spare the grisly details. 

“Boiling wine and water, if you must know.” Joly frowned thoughtfully. “The Queen isn’t unkind, she won’t torture you.”

“I do not doubt the goodness of her heart or I’d be freezing my ass off in a cell instead of sitting in front of a fire. And do not waste good wine on my sorry hide.” Grantaire protested.

“I do not think the Queen would think it a waste.” Joly sat next to him, hands fiddling in his lap. They always seemed to be in motion, his hands, always touching or pressing or reaching. They sat in silence for a moment, Grantaire’s thoughts straying back to the blond god. 

Joly broke through his thoughts with a tentative question: “Did you really unhorse the Viper at the Kings Tourney last year?”

Grantaire chuckled. “I did. Though it’s not as grand as the tales tell. We were both pissing drunk, I just happened to be a little steadier on my horse.”

Joly laughed. “And at Jace Tyrell’s wedding? When you won the melee? I do not believe all the contestants were intoxicated then as well.”

Grantaire sighed, “Ah, that. Well, I cannot attest for the sobriety of the other competitors, but I can say I was unfortunately not as drunk as I should have been seeing it was a wedding and the only redeeming quality of those horrid festivities is that there’s always an abundance of wine. So I suppose that win can be attributed to my apparent talent at hitting people with a sharp object.”

Joly smiled and looked like he was about to ask another question, but luckily a man (not a guard, Grantaire noticed) stepped in with a bowl and jug. 

“Combeferre!” Joly jumped up, hurrying to relieve him of the jug balancing precariously in his arms. “I thought Feuilly was getting it?”

The man smiled apologetically, “He wanted to check a few things with Cosette, and I wanted to properly introduce myself.” He turned to Grantaire with a warm smile. “I’m Combeferre.”

“Grantaire.” He returned the smile tersely. He didn’t know much about the middle Stark, which made him dangerous.

Joly motioned him to get up and stand by the table where he had laid out his equipment. “Did you really have to injure yourself in the most awkward place to clean?” Joly grumbled as he tried to maneuver Grantaire into a more comfortable position. 

“Oh, yes, next time I’ll make sure to injure myself in a more convenient location.” Grantaire griped back “An arm, perhaps? Or would a leg be more to your taste?”

Combeferre laughed as Joly scolded him. “There’s no need to be rude. Now, this might hurt a bit.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes “Oh, how will I endure the agony of hot wine.” But he gritted his teeth as Joly began to clean out the wound. 

“So do you find the North to your liking?” Combeferre asked from where he was warming his hands by the fire.

Grantaire grimaced, “Gods no. Too bloody cold for one thing. And every time I turn around there’s a stinking Northman trying to stick me with a sword.”

Combeferre chuckled, “Yes, that tends to happen in a war.”

“A war that you started.” Grantaire grumbled.

He felt Joly freeze behind him for a moment. Combeferre smiled coldly, “I fear we must disagree. You started this war when you cut off my father’s head.”

“I can assure you I had nothing to do with that.” Grantaire said wearily, “He was supposed to be sent to The Wall, he was never meant to die- but that idiot boy sitting on the throne wouldn’t listen to reason.” He looked up at Combeferre, “Your father was a good man, an honorable man. I only met him a few times but I liked him.” He huffed a laugh, “I fear he had no such sentiments for me.”

Combeferre nodded, seeming satisfied with his answer. “Earlier, you said you saw my sister at court.” He hesitated, “Did you ever speak with her? How is she, truly?”

“She’s much as you’d expect her to be, utterly miserable,” Grantaire said, “But she is not without friends.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Combeferre said, looking relieved, “I have no doubt we will be able to speak more tomorrow, but for now I bid you goodnight.”

Grantaire watched him leave thoughtfully. “He reminds me of his father, only he has a sense of humor.”

Joly smiled. “He’s a good man. Better than most.” He wiped his hands on a spare rag, “Alright, I’m done for now but I’ll be back tomorrow to check and make sure its healing right.”

“I’m looking forward to it already.” Grantaire straightened up, waving Joly off.

Now off to that very tempting bed and a hand around his cock stroking in time to the suns steps as he danced to the beat of the stars whirling away in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very welcome and my tumblr is lesbianqueenofhighgarden

**Author's Note:**

> I write faster with comments to motivate me and my tumblr is lesbianqueenofhighgarden
> 
> (Jehan and Montparnasse are coming don't worry)
> 
> (I also have no idea what to do with Bossuet so suggestions are very very welcome)


End file.
